


Simple Distractions

by ThunderPhang



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Banter, Canon-Typical Bastardism, M/M, honestly this is about as domestic as they could really get, peter can't shave. you can't change my mind.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderPhang/pseuds/ThunderPhang
Summary: “Your beard.” Elias gestured toward it with one hand. “When was the last time you shaved, Peter?”It was hard to tell if Peter took personal offense to the question, as he moved nary an inch. “Does it matter?” He replied, pursing his lips. Innocent questions from Elias always had a way of turning sour, and that was one slippery slope Peter would like to avoid.	“I much prefer it this way.”Sometimes, Elias gets a touch picky. It'd really do Peter some favours if he listened.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 157





	Simple Distractions

Elias felt the edges of his lips quirk into a soft frown as his eyes once again scanned the same sentence that he’d been attempting to read for the past few minutes. His attention was divided elsewhere, juggling the circus act that was observing his Institute and staff, and the Captain of the Tundra, Peter Lukas, who was currently seated across from his desk, legs crossed as he stared out into barren wall opposite to him.   
  
He wasn’t going to get any work done at this rate. Not when Peter wanted to be a nuisance.

Elias exhaled a heavy sigh, finally shifting his attention away from his monitor to Peter, giving him a narrowed stare.

“Peter.” Elias broke the silence that permeated the small office, lacing his fingers together and placing them in front of him.   
  
Peter’s glossed eyes didn’t portray any acknowledgement. A pause followed, drawn out and entirely unnecessary. Unfortunately, Elias couldn’t stop Peter from being irritating in his own way, so he stared at Peter until it became marginally uncomfortable for the other and he fluttered his gaze over to Elias.   
  
“Can I help you, Elias?” Peter replied in a disinterested tone. “You know, it is considered rude to stare.”

The corner of Elias’ eye twitched, and he could’ve sworn that Peter curled his lips into the faintest smile, but Elias contained himself and pulled his shoulders back. “I want to know what you’re doing in my office.”

“I’m enjoying the view.” Peter spoke, moving his attention back to the opposing wall, ”I’m sure you’re very busy with work, so I won’t disturb you. Not to worry. Carry on.”

Elias could leave him be, return to work and ignore Peter as he wished, but given where his current thoughts drifted, Elias was certain that he’d get no further in writing this grant proposal. With a Lukas in the office, the matter of funding was purely for show and good spirit. It gave something to do in the tedious times where keeping an eye on Jonathan didn’t cut it. 

Instead, Elias could entertain this farce. Peter  _ was _ the one who willingly surrendered himself to stand upon the grounds of the Ceaseless Watcher, so it would be polite to give a host’s humble welcome. It brought a small smile across Elias’ face as he leaned ever so slightly across his desk, prodding the thick bubble of personal space Peter had coddled himself in.

“Fortunately, I have no immediate  _ pressing _ matters to attend to, so I’m more than available for any last minute appointments.” Elias started, keeping a fixed, level stare on Peter. The weight of it alone was enough to bring the captain to attention. The look on Peter’s face was far from pleased. “So, if you need to speak with me Peter, I’d suggest now is the time to do so while you have my  _ undivided attention,  _ because between the both of us, we both know you aren’t inclined to seeking out company on a whim.”

Another pregnant moment of silence followed that, with Peter holding a glint of contemplation in his expression. Finally, he sat up in the chair, having unfolded his legs to straighten himself up and sighed deeply, ”Is it too much to ask to spend time away from family?” For once, there was an agitated edge in Peter’s voice, ”I’d prefer if you didn’t push it.” His expression darkened, and the wrinkles that framed his face were deep. It was a threat. Elias could see that as plain as day.

A surprise, but not an unwelcome one. One could even say that hearing such emotion could be considered a development, but Elias is aware that those of Lonely ilk are more than capable of emoting in their own ways. Peter, however, was a man who played his cards close to his chest in a multitude of ways. To see what Elias could consider to be an outburst from Peter was a spectacle, and it easily amused him. 

The Lukas family can be…  _ problematic _ to work with. Elias could attest to that.

So, it was a simple matter of not pushing it. Rather, Elias bent down, opening the lower draw to his desk and fetched a decanter of scotch and two glasses, setting them on his desk before pouring out an appropriate helping into each glass. He pushed one glass toward Peter while taking his own and bringing it to his lips to sip.

Peter watched with feigned intrigue, and raised a brow at the glass offered to him.    
  
“Is this an attempt to console me, Elias?” He asked, picking up the glass and holding it up in the air to inspect the golden tint of scotch. Peter swirled it, then brought it to his nose and sniffed it. “It’s quite strong. Where did you get it?”   


Elias tilted his head and set his glass aside, “A gift from an old friend. Nothing special, aside from perhaps age, but it all tastes the same these days.” He dismissively waved a hand in the air. One of the quirks of this body, he was afraid. Dulled sensations made it difficult to enjoy anything with a sensible palette. A pity.

Peter regarded the scotch with suspicion, raising his gaze to Elias. He was searching for intent, but it was quickly dismissed with a pleased hum as Peter sipped from it. A soft smirk replaced the suspicious demeanour, but there was the cold, empty nothingness that Peter sported best, evident in the fog that exuded from his words. Every breath, every gesture, every gaze- it all meant nothing.

Or did it? 

Elias couldn’t ascertain anything for truth, Peter too obscured in his own loneliness for Elias to truly  _ Know _ if his joy was a facade or not. And yet, Elias would tug on that chain, fervently testing it at every angle. There would be justification for one’s behaviour, no doubt. Peter couldn’t deny that. After all, what man cut of the Lonely cloth would actively bother another person in a mild family dispute? Why not turn to walk his own path in the One Alone, that desolate world that emphasized the isolation that those would so crave? What  _ was _ Peter playing at?

Then again, love was an inexplicable, fickle beast.

Curse his sentiment for the man.

The tension bled from the room. It was a miracle how an offered drink, whether it be tea or scotch, could settle a mood in a matter of seconds. It was either that, or Peter was easy to please. Elias would’ve put his money on the latter, but to maintain the facade of Peter’s illusions of victory, he would have to opt for the former. For the sake of Peter’s pride. It was easy for scathing words to cut deeply, and Elias did appreciate the dynamic they sported in the current moment, so it would be best to maintain it.

Following discussion had drawn Elias from keeping an eye on his Archivist, rather devoting his attention to entertaining his company than watching them argue over the events that transpired in whatever television show held their captivation. Nothing else conducive would be achieved today, so Elias could afford the lenience. Let him relax and delight what he could from such absent company. 

The subjects of discussion were menial and varied, holding no serious weight or connotations. From alcohol, to Peter’s ventures (which were disclosed as vague and ambiguous as appropriately possible), to the Institute’s wellbeing and the Archivist’s steady progression. There was the offer of a wager, which Elias turned down for the sake of his own ego. Funding was avoided, as Elias didn’t wish to infringe on any of the Lukas domestics that seemed to be brewing. He’s certain he’d hear the fallout of it soon enough.

Time dragged on, and it appeared that Peter had temporarily forgotten his indignant attitude, settling into drinking his third helping of scotch, whilst Elias finished his first. Peter was rambling on about something or rather, one hand in his beard as he scratched it thoughtfully, with Elias watching from across the table, leaning back in his chair, arms propped up. 

It was always so entertaining to listen to Peter talk, considering that Elias never found a Lukas who talked quite as much as him. That was to say, though, Peter did rarely talk. If anything, his interactions with Elias were an outlier - an outlier that Elias deeply preferred.

Something had caught his attention, however, in his careful observations of Peter that the other had grown regrettably accustomed to. Perhaps it was the close proximity, or Elias’ new hobby of picking every intricate aspect of Peter apart, but he was drawn to greying salt and pepper beard with gnarled, tangled hairs. A thorned shrub, if Elias were to be blunt. Evidently he hadn’t taken any care of it.

Peter wasn’t blind to Elias’ fixation, pausing mid-sentence with a held breath. He would always squirm under Elias’ watchful gaze, and there was the difference between the uncomfortable, stuffy, passive stare and the one that was drinking in every fibre. Peter brought his hands up, pulling up on the collar of his coat and brought his chin down, returning the stare with his own,

“My eyes are up here.” He said with a frown, “Is there something the matter, Elias?”

Elias blinked to attention, the slight crease in his brow retreating. He gave a cordial smile, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Your beard.” Elias gestured toward it with one hand. “When was the last time you shaved, Peter?”

It was hard to tell if Peter took personal offense to the question, as he moved nary an inch. “Does it matter?” He replied, pursing his lips. Innocent questions from Elias always had a way of turning sour, and that was one slippery slope Peter would like to avoid. “I much prefer it this way.”  
  
Elias took his glass, giving Peter a stern stare before sipping the scotch. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Are you shaming me now? You seriously can’t blame me for wanting to keep my face warm.” He sat up in his seat, adjusting himself as he leaned forward. “It’s convenient.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Come on- You can’t  _ really  _ expect me to remember.” Peter reclined back into his seat.

Elias audibly scoffed. “A few years, then?”   


“Less than that.”

“So you do remember?”

“Enough to know it’s not that long.” Peter exhaled deeply, setting his empty glass aside and cupping his hands together, “What are you getting at?” 

Elias raised both brows in Peter’s direction in disbelief. The answer was obvious, but judging by the other’s demeanour, he wanted Elias to spell it out for him,

“I am simply suggesting that perhaps it wouldn’t hurt you to shave every once in a while.” He supported his chin with laced fingers, maintaining his gaze on Peter, “It may make you more…  _ appealing. _ ” 

The sarcastic tone was enough to draw an empty laugh from Peter, the stilted sound of it inviting a smirk from Elias.

“I’m not in the business of courting anyone else at the moment.” Peter chimed genially, “I don’t really see the value in shaving.” As if to rub it in further, he returned to stroking his beard thoughtfully, pulling on all of its knots and split ends. Trying to dismiss him, was he? Peter’s smile made it plain to see that he was attempting to goad him.

Elias did have a beard in his past life- not too long ago, actually. It suited James Wright much better than it did Elias Bouchard, so he had to make a conscious effort to shave in the morning or risk being attacked by blonde, spotty stubble. Peter could at least do them both the favour of cleaning up.

“Would you like me to do it for you?” Elias suggested.

Peter stopped. He gave Elias a confused, bewildered expression, cocking his head to one side.

“Not really, no.” 

“A wager, then?” Elias countered, bringing himself forward to place both hands on his desk. “All in good fun, I assure you.” 

Elias could see the gears that started to turn behind Peter’s now neutral veneer. He gave him a gentle smile, knowing that Peter was not one for turning down a bet. Too much of a fan, and, well, Elias wasn’t in the business of  _ winning  _ them. He’d been quite content in losing every wager put forth, either on his own terms, or Peter’s. Winning  _ one _ with relatively low stakes wouldn’t even remotely factor into the captain’s ego. He can’t risk making the victory easy, of course. Just by the skin of his teeth, and even so, give the impression that Peter was the winner in either scenario. 

Peter, on the other hand, pulled the seat forward to prop his elbows up on Elias’ desk. His glare narrowed in reservation, flaring his nose as he shifted his jaw in thought. Nothing was ever simple with Elias, but liquid courage did take you places. 

“What do I get if I win?” Peter asked.

Elias’ grin widened at the question.

* * *

  
  


Suffice it to say, Elias won his _very_ first bet in the decades of competition they had shared. Peter wouldn’t count it as a victory by any means, considering the circumstances had lead to be Elias the victor by default. Thus, by proxy, Peter was the one who _won,_ and it could all be chalked up to a matter of _bad_ _luck_.

Bad luck that culminated in Elias’ apartment in Kensington on a crisp, weekend afternoon. The furnishings themselves were pricey, but nothing expensive- aside from the view. It oversaw Holland Park, and the skyline in its proximity, and it was a surprise how Elias Bouchard afforded it in the first place. A luxury of the paycheck over decades of work, no doubt. Being the Head of the Magnus Institute -  _ his _ Institute - was a thankless job. It was only fair he was compensated accordingly.

As always, Peter was characteristically late. Or uncharacteristically so, as an hour late turned into two, and the warm tones of the sunset started to creep into the dark tones of night. Elias sighed as he put a thumb in the spine of his book, turning on the lamp next to his chair on for light. His free hand sunk into the pocket of his waist coat, fetching out the pocket watch to confirm that it was 7:32pm.

Elias had given him the schedule of 5:30pm, which allowed Peter a leniency of an hour if he wanted to be stubborn about it. As time passed, however, Elias had begun to ponder if Peter had taken it to heart, and decided it would be better to elope responsibilities and take off to the ocean for the remainder of the year. He couldn’t say he would be surprised, albeit it would tarnish any inkling of trust Elias held for the man, and that was a risky game to play. So, Elias would continue to wait, slipping the pocket watch back and returning to read in the silence of his own home.

It wasn’t long before a high whine of static filled the air, Elias spying Peter in his peripheral hanging up his coat by the front door. Elias set his book aside, standing from his chair to guide himself to the open kitchen,

“Good evening, Peter.” He pulled himself to the small wine rack in the corner, hovering a hand over the bottles, “I’m glad you could join me tonight.” Better to be grateful that Peter showed up at all than remark on his lack of tact. Peter, on the other hand, looked less than thrilled, keeping his expression reserved as he dusted off his muted sweater.

“To be entirely honest with you, I don’t think I like that my visits have become less infrequent.” Peter mused, pulling a hand through his mop of hair. “People might get the wrong idea and start talking.” 

Elias gently plucked one of the aged bottles from the shelf, setting it on the kitchen counter. “Would they be wrong?” He asked, drifting to one of the taller cupboards. “Though I suppose the more of a fuss you make, the more people will notice.” Elias added with a chuckle. Two wine glasses were procured, and a corkscrew was produced. Peter shrugged, eyes glossing over the interior, not even a glint of recognition present. They flickered back when there was an audible pop and the distinct sound of pouring wine. He exhaled as he walked himself over, staring down both the glass Elias offered, and Elias himself. 

Peter accepted it, brushing his cool hand against Elias’ fingers as he took up the glass. “You’re the one who insisted on these terms.” He started, swirling the wine and giving it as much as a curious look as he could muster. “You’ve made this much more of a hassle than it needs to be, you know. Not that you’d have it any other way. So meticulous and excessive with you, isn’t it? I’d hope to catch a break from it one of these days, which is why I’m making a fuss in the first place.” Peter sipped from his glass, with Elias tilting his head in vague disinterest for Peter’s complaints. “Can’t a man express his concerns?”

Elias could only take his own wine glass and sigh, using his free hand to gesture to the seat prepared in the living room. “The more you behave, the quicker this will be over and done with, I assure you. Feel free to take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be preparing myself in the meantime.” 

With Peter now somewhat placated, Elias vanished from the kitchen, his glass in tow, leaving the captain standing in the middle of untouched furniture and an open view into the lights of London. He huffed in his own idle amusement, trotting over to the chair that had been set aside in front of a large mirror. The sight of his own, pale reflection was enough to warrant to correct his posture, Peter keeping his glass close to his chest. His gaze did, however, float back to wherever Elias had vanished into his own house. Peter had only made the conscious effort to recall where the wine rack was. The rest of it was a mystery, and something he was rather appreciative of. 

Alone with his own thoughts, Peter settled himself down into the chair, leaning back and perching both elbows on the cushioned armrests. Of course, Elias had made certain that it was angled toward the  _ excellent  _ view. It lorded over everything within the proximity, staring down onto the streets and the people that would pass by it, day and night; subtly never  _ really _ was Elias’ speciality in any regard. He wouldn’t know subtle if it hit him over the head with a rock. It did make one ponder, Peter thought as he reclined in the chair, if this was an attempt to make him uncomfortable or if it was an attempt of flirtation.

Peter would’ve happily wagered on the latter.

Nestling into the chair, Peter stared out into the vacant streets. He sat like that for what felt like hours, empty eyes pouring over the road without so much as a quirked brow. The wine did a horrible job in staving off boredom, which in itself was rewarding. 

Eventually, Peter glanced over his shoulder to examine an empty house out of habit. 

Not a soul. Nothing. Just an open wine bottle out on the counter. Elias was taking his time with this, it seemed, and for a brief moment, there was the temporary illusion that Peter truly was the only one alone in this home. Maybe he should come around more often, when Elias is preoccupied elsewhere, and  _ feel _ the pain that tugged at his heartstrings. A fitting distraction to keep his head in the clouds and fixate on, and perhaps even truly lose himself in it.

It would also be a good excuse to browse his wine selection.

Unfortunately, beauty is not designed to last, and Elias finally re-emerged, carrying a variety of items in his arms. A bowl of hot water was placed onto the table beside Peter, along with two white towel and tools to shave. There’s a faint, uneasy sensation of eyes that dug holes into the back of Peter’s head, which brought him to stare pointedly at Elias’ reflection in the mirror to dismiss it,

“Enjoying the view, Peter?” Elias asked, as he pulled himself to stand behind Peter, giving him an indulgent smile in the mirror. “It’s quite rare to find anything like it in London.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Peter murmured, “And how long have you had this place?”

“It’s been in my possession for quite some time.” Elias dismissed, reaching down for one of the two towels and submerging it in the bowl of water set aside. He brought up, wringing it of the excess water. “Now tilt your head back and hold still.” 

Reluctantly, Peter brought his head back, exhaling deeply. Whatever came next, he certainly didn’t expect a  _ scalding hot _ , soaked towel to be pressed against the lower half of his face. There was an instinctive flinch, Peter jerking back in the seat which only seemed to strengthen Elias’ insistence. He’d expect it to be warm _ , sure, _ but against his frigid complexion and Elias’ need to make the process as painful as possible, it was  _ burning. _

The stinging quickly turned to a hot flush of discomfort, Peter forming a scowl on his lips. Elias had taken to that infuriatingly  _ smug _ smile that typically came when he discussed his employees, and everything about it made Peter’s blood boil to a normal temperature. Slowly, Elias relaxed his grip, and started the soul-rending gesture of massaging Peter’s beard methodically, moving in continuous, circular motions to ensure that it soaked properly through. It wasn’t made any better by Peter’s frustrated nudgings of his jaw, having already brought his shoulders up out of a natural need to tense himself. 

“That was a little too  _ hot _ , wouldn’t you think?” Peter curled his fingers tightly into fists, pulling up on the arm rests ever so faintly. “ _ And _ rather forceful.”

“I  _ do _ recall asking you to hold still.” Elias pulled the steaming towel away, setting it back into the bowl for safekeeping. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to listen for once, Peter. Not everything I say or do is with the intent to harm you.” 

Peter scrunched up his nose, but forced himself to sit upright in the chair with with nothing but his displeasure visible, “I’m beginning to doubt that.” 

“Perhaps it was unnecessary, but I felt the need to make a point. I’ll be more gentle from now on.” Elias unapologetically cooed as he applied the shaving cream to his right hand. He slipped his left hand into Peter’s hair to bring his head back after Peter had reflexively tucked his chin into his chest, and started to apply the cream to Peter’s beard. There was a muffled mumble of displeasure, Peter wanting to escape his circumstances, but a bet was a bet, no matter how insufferable it was.

Once Peter’s beard transformed into a mockery of Saint Nicholas himself, Elias cleaned his hands off with the bowl and spare towel before taking up the straight razor he’d placed to the side. He unfurled it in a theatrical display, enough to warrant a groan of disgust from Peter,

“ _ No-  _ no. You are  _ not _ shaving the whole thing.” Peter admonished, bringing his head around to give Elias a dangerous look.

“You agreed to these terms, Peter.” Was all Elias could offer to Peter’s abrupt reluctance. He sighed, relaxing his weight to one side while still brandishing the razor. “These are the stakes of losing, I’m afraid. Besides, you may find it will bring some youth to your features.”

Whatever joke there was, Peter could only grit his teeth and continued the soured expression in an attempt to dissuade Elias in some regard. To his credit, Elias did pause. Whether it was out of genuine consideration or a horrible attempt of teasing him, Peter couldn’t gauge. But, the silence was soon broken and Elias gave a cold smile,

“I suppose I can heed your request. It would be unbecoming of me not to.” He explained, slipping his other hand to Peter’s chilled cheek, tilting the other’s head on an angle. The abrupt touch without warning did cause the Lukas to flinch, but quickly settle. “I  _ will _ still be grooming it, however. Don’t think you can  _ quite _ get out of that.” 

It was enough to soothe Peter’s anxieties at the very least, watching him recline back into the chair with some semblance of composure while Elias brought the razor right to Peter’s left cheek. He brought it to an angle and glided it down in a simple stroke, applying not even an ounce of pressure; the last thing he’d need is an indignant Peter missing half of his face due to Elias’ incompetence. Sure, shaving with a straight razor was outdated, and it would’ve been much more practical to utilize technology of the current era, but what could Elias say? He was an old fashioned man with even older tastes. 

Perhaps he was just nostalgic for the simpler times.

A thick blanket of silence enveloped the room, Peter the unfortunate victim while Elias occasionally exhaled deeply while he went about his work. His hand was steady, and with great precision, went about his work. Peter would remark that he was going about it at a snail’s pace, perhaps a snide comment on how he wanted it done sooner rather than in the next century, but there was smug satisfaction as Elias was methodical in the shaping and sculpting of his beard. He was taking his time. On occasion, Elias would allow for his knuckles to linger for the most fleeting of moments, or brush his fingers against his cheek while he stopped just a few inches short of not shaving down the entire length of beard.

The Watcher’s pride wouldn’t let him admit anything, but Peter knew, and that was enough for him.

The captain shuffled back in the chair, coaxing himself into a complacent stupour by taking up his wine glass and taking a large mouthful. Elias paused, bringing the razor up and giving a cold glare.

“Keep still.” He chided, waving away Peter’s glass. The other scoffed.

“It’s counterintuitive to give me wine and not expect me to drink it, Elias.”

Elias maneuvered himself around Peter, leaning over him to catch edges he had initially missed,

“You can drink after. I’m sure you’d prefer it if I didn’t leave your face a bloodied mess.” Elias tilted Peter’s head to the other side to continue his work, mirroring the same strokes. Maybe Peter should be thankful that he’s getting his beard done at all, all things considered. To be truthful, he’d never bothered much about doing it himself, and, well- other people were off the table. It was a…  _ nice _ compromise, not needing to put in any effort on his own behalf.

Aside from the unwanted proximity of Elias, that was. 

A part of him was only tolerating it because of the wager. There was that snarling, bitter, cold ocean tide that wanted to slink away, vanish from the whole affair, and he would’ve gladly if not for the fact that a blade was now poised at his throat, Elias careful as he avoided nicking or cutting Peter’s neck. Proximity to others was insufferable, Peter being much more partial to his isolation, but he would admit to only himself that Elias was  _ tolerable _ company. Most of the time. They were both insufferable in their own, unique rights. There were few people that could hold Peter’s scathing, false attention in any way that mattered, and Elias happened to be one of them in his own,  _ special _ way. In that vein, there was another part of him that  _ was _ enjoying this, as much as he detested that aspect of himself.

Although, Elias  _ was _ the one pushing his luck with this. The serious glint of concentration in perfecting Peter’s beard didn’t overshadow the permanent curl at the edge of Elias’ lips, even more prominent as he brought the razor away and brought up the towel to wipe away the remaining shaving cream. It still was marginally uncomfortable to have something so blistering pressed up against Lonely skin, as much as it had had time to cool in the bowl. Peter scrunched up his nose, which was met with a raise of both brows by Elias.

“Making faces in the mirror, are we?” Elias rhetorically asked, swapping the wet towel with the dry one, wiping down Peter’s face. The sides of his cheeks had been clean shaven, but left two inches along his jawline to maintain the beard. The sideburns had been spared too, and given crisp form and shape that was otherwise lost in bush that prior sat on Peter’s face. The hair that remained was still long and mangled, twisting together and housing obvious split ends. Once Elias had noticed, he muttered a few choice words under his breath, and withheld from making any audible judgements. Both of them knew what he was thinking, but it never hurt to be polite.

The towel was exchanged for a comb, which Elias deftly brought through the remaining hair, smoothing it out to an even length and removing the knots with forceful strokes. Peter winced as Elias had to  _ tug _ the comb through what was left of the disheveled beard.

“It wouldn’t hurt to brush it once in a blue moon.” Elias muttered more idle commentary, shaking off the comb and setting it down. That alone brought a twitch of a smirk to Peter’s expression, delighting in the useless fretting of his grooming habits. How cruel it was that Elias actually  _ cared _ in any capacity. Perhaps he  _ should _ indulge in these visits more often.

The length of his beard was still far too unruly. It was now a matter of trimming it and levelling it out, which had Elias take up the scissors and a more intrusive position relative to Peter; Elias had given his guest a flicker of respite, but only to return with a stool. He situated it to Peter’s right, orientated so that when Elias sat down, his back was to the mirror and he was facing Peter straight on. He’d taken the relatively dry towel and wrapped it neatly around Peter’s neck, to save him the trouble of dusting off loose hair.

There was a stasis of time, where Elias made himself comfortable where he now sat, and Peter kept a removed, watchful on him. Elias noticed it immediately, staring back with a vivid, sharp gaze. It was held for far too long, with the atmosphere in the room dropping to a sudden, encompassing stillness where neither of them dared move an inch. Not in fear of doing so and provoking a reaction, no, but rather they were both savouring it in their own, respective ways. Something about it brought hairs to stand on end and a silent chill encased the both of them. Something that they could both cherish.

But, they couldn’t exactly spend the entire night like this, and Peter would’ve taken it as an invitation to leave, so Elias relaxed himself as he brought up both the scissors and his free hand, tilting Peter’s chin back and started the arduous process of taming what remained of the beard. 

Keeping it at an even length, Elias moved left to right, and had to share (or invade, as someone would argue) a majority of Peter’ personal space to do so, leaning over him to ensure that nothing was left a patchy, uneven mess. The last thing he’d need for was Peter dragging him through the mud through a half-hearted attempt. If he was doing this, he was going to do it to perfection, to the point where even Peter couldn’t make any complaints about it. Knowing him, however, there was a will, and he’d find a way. He always did.

Peter remained still. There wasn’t so much of a complaint raised, as much as he’d rather be tasting the wine he’d been told off for indulging in. He’d sunk into the depths of his seat by now, allowing Elias to make his point and savour his victory. Fighting it and being intolerable could come later, for now? He felt bile building at the back of his throat for even the emotion, but it had him ever so  _ tickled _ that Elias, of all people, was stooped down to trimming his beard. One would think he was at his beck and call, with how much he entertained him. Peter was never one to bite on any bait, but one  _ could _ get used to this.

And to eventually discard it later, naturally. 

Oh, he  _ could _ have fun with this.

It wasn’t long before Elias had pulled away, setting down the scissors and straightening up to admire his handiwork;

New, fresh life had been breathed back into Peter’s face, now framed by the professional cut of his beard. Ten years younger, at the very least. You could see his mouth without it being swamped by the bush that had previously sat on his face. It did his glossed, distant eyes much justice than what was prior. There was serious intent behind it instead of the day-dreams of a befuddled, middle-aged man that took unsuspecting day naps. 

“ _ Much  _ better.” Elias declared with a tinge of pride, smiling as he admired his handiwork. He offered the wet towel, but not before squeezing it. It was  _ finally _ tolerable enough for Peter to hold, which he accepted mutedly, rubbing down his face from any stray strands. Elias, on the other hand, started to clean up. He took the towel around Peter’s neck, and the supplies, bundling them back up in his arms before eventually accepting the wet towel. “Feel free to indulge in the rest of the bottle while I clean up.”

With his blessing, Elias departed again, vanishing into the depths of his home. Peter was left with his new cut, staring back at him, and a glass of unfinished wine. He took up his drink, sipping at it while he leaned forward. His gaze was avoidant in the reflection, the unsettling discomfort of staring himself in the eye distracted by scratching at his beard with his free hand. Clean. Healthy. Crisp. And it smelt so strongly of smoked wood that it undercut the ocean salt that clung to him like an extra layer. Peter huffed, finally standing up from the seat.

Elias did a good job. He’ll allow that admittance to himself. Peter never had much in the way of standards, so he was moderately surprised that Elias didn’t intentionally sabotage him in any way. If he truly wanted, he could’ve shaved the whole thing off.

_ Sentiment is going to get yourself killed, Jonah. _

Peter scoffed, and finished the rest of the glass in a large mouthful, moving back over to the counter and pouring himself another large helping. 

Damn his good wine.

* * *

Elias returned briskly from the bathroom, having made his strides to leave no mess, and was mildly astonished to still see Peter at all in his house. Of course, the captain had gone through a majority of the wine bottle, and had finished what Elias could consider his fourth glass, but the fact that he was still  _ present _ and not  _ gone _ had him rather curious. His offer, after all, was just an offer. And Peter wasn’t fond of offers without stakes. 

It wasn’t as if he were  _ drunk. _ Getting drunk off of wine was about a bottle’s worth of effort, and the metabolism of those touched by the dread powers were, for the most part, a mystery. It changed bodies in the strangest of ways, and there could be a dozen theories on how it might take root in a Lonely heart. 

Peter wasn’t a fool, however, and he smiled at Elias’ acknowledgement.

“You did make the offer.” His grin grew wider, but there was that aching shallowness behind the sentiment.

“I suppose I did.” Elias sighed, giving the impression that he was irritated by the prospect. What he wouldn’t tell Peter was he had another three bottles locked away, in the event that celebration called for it. Or a Lukas should drain his reservoir. Better to give him the ego boost, no matter how small. “You can have the rest of the bottle, if you’d like. A parting gift for until the next time I see you.”

Which, now, it had struck Elias that Peter was likely to go on his escapades again. Journeying around in nothingness for weeks, if not months. It had been the most time Peter had spent time sharing space with Elias, reluctant or not. His company was sparse for good reason. Why didn’t he just leave? Elias furrowed his brows in silent contemplation, his eyes serious as they observed Peter keenly. Searching for an answer in that accursed fog, which never gave any purchase for knowing. 

Peter could only cock his head at Elias’ frustration. “I can understand if you don’t want to give up the bottle, Elias.” He took the neck of the bottle and tilted it to examine the liquid in the warm underglow of the light. “But do you  _ really _ need to stare at me like that? It’s  _ very _ discomforting, I hope you realise.” 

Elias took a step forward, arms folded tightly behind his back. “I was more curious as to why you haven’t left yet.”

“Do you want me to leave? I was under the impression you invited me into your home.” Peter shot back, blinking in what one could interpret as confoundment as to why Elias had even asked the question in the first place.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Peter.” Elias smoothed out his tie, “It’s out of character for you to linger for so long, and for what, exactly? A bottle of wine? I would’ve thought if you wanted it, you’d have taken it and left.”

Elias could hazard a shot in the dark, but it could be so  _ infuriating _ working with something that’d rather not be  _ Known _ and left alone. Peter was predictable, in most ways, but there were times that he was so obscured that Elias couldn’t begin to even formulate an indication of what he wanted.

“I just wanted to say good night.” Peter stated a matter-of-factly, closing the distance between himself and Elias. “That  _ is _ what people do these days, isn’t it?”

As if that  _ answered _ anything. It left more questions, which Elias was both frustrated by, and horribly  _ enchanted _ by the prospect. Peter had set down the wine bottle, and drifted his attention back to Elias, almost expectantly. Elias knew that Peter wasn’t a man to bother to say his farewells. He was more impartial to late arrivals and unannounced exits; all to give the impression that he wasn’t there in the first place.

This was  _ new. _ Elias felt his expression rouse from dismissive to a keen, inquisitive pull, cocking his chin up to stare up at Peter in his looming frame. “Normal people do.”

Peter leaned in further, for once intruding on the personal space of another living being willingly. “That’s cruel, Elias. I’m far more normal than you are.” He sarcastically droned. There could be a dozen excuses to be made for Peter’s behaviour, given how coy and impeding he typically acts, but there was no denying that this was a  _ first. _

Elias narrowed his eyes, inhaling sharply. Peter’s propinquity sent a shiver down his spine, a tingling under his skin that wanted to reach out and test the waters. He was close enough that the scent of desolate beach stung his nose, prickled by the discomfort of it. Alluring in it’s own, unknowable way, like a siren’s call out at sea. 

_ Control yourself,  _ Elias scolded himself. “What  _ are _ you getting at?” He asked, words edged with suspicion. 

Peter tutted, his gaze breaking away to look down at his feet. “Nothing heinous, I assure you. I meant what I said- I wanted to say good night, so that’s what I’m here to do.” 

A frigid hand was placed on Elias’ chest. Solid. Very much real, and in no way a mirage of any fog. Elias’ face twisted from his well-placed cautious to immediate intrigue, disguising his silent nonplus. A delicate pause froze whatever reservations Elias held, regarding Peter’s touch with his full attention. Peter’s hand deftly weaved itself around Elias’ tie, giving it a gentle tug forward and to bring Elias practically on his chest, while he brushed the back of his other hand across Elias’ cheek. 

Elias scoffed, imparting obvious distaste for ruining the knot of his tie all the while failing to ignore how his body shuddered under it all. His own hands were quick to wrap around Peter’s waist, a fruitless attempt to ensnare him in his own folly. Elias expected it to be met with cold absence, with Peter falling through and making Elias the fool in his own home. All for the other’s delight.

And yet, Peter remained, a placid, faux smile greeting Elias as he glanced up to meet his gaze once more. Searching, naturally, for an explanation or justification, to which he found none. Perhaps he’d already coaxed the answer out of him.

Peter was visibly, quite pleased with himself. Too pleased, one might say. He bowed his head lower, turning his free hand to cup Elias’ cheek and ghosted the faintest impression of his lips on Elias’, breath cold on his skin. Elias tightened his grip on Peter’s sweater, his own breath bated as he kept his eyes fixed and level; unblinking and watching.  _ Expecting. _

Not that Peter was ever a man to deliver. Never was. He retreated, intending for himself to leave Elias longing for what could’ve been, when-

“ _ Don’t be a tease.”  _ Elias found himself hissing through his teeth. One hand from behind Peter’s back wrapped itself back around to forcibly  _ pull _ Peter back down by the sweater to his level, and fiercely met Peter for a kiss. 

There was the abject horror of the bitter despair that crept into Elias’ heart when they met; the bleak void of personal absence. One would compare it to kissing a dead body, and yet, they’d be wrong in so many ways. Peter had found himself willingly surrounding to it - the vile thought of being  _ Known _ as he gripped a vice around Elias’ tie, huffing through his nose in a half-hearted protest. It served only to curl Elias’ lips into the faintest of smiles as he pulled away, but weight still pressed against Peter’s body.

“There.” The smug expression didn’t leave Elias, growing wider as he loosed his hold on his prey. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Peter rolled his eyes, ”Trust me.” He remarked, “You make it  _ very _ difficult.” 

The captain pulled himself away, his attention vanishing from Elias without missing a beat, instead more concerned with the wellbeing of the wine bottle. He picked it up again, delicately inspecting it before turning his back towards Elias and approaching the door. Elias trailed close behind, readjusting the tie which had nearly been made a noose, and kept a watchful eye on Peter as he slipped into the coat that was hung by the door.

“A pity you’re leaving so soon.” Elias bemused, pressing out his tie once more.

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, adjusting the collar of his coat to turn it up against the invisible winds summoned by the low roll of high static that cut through the world.

“Good night, Elias.” Peter’s voice echoed. “Have a pleasant evening.”

In the blink of an eye, Peter was gone.

Elias was left to the vacant space of his home, exhaling a heavy, deep seeded sigh as he stepped back into it. He would deny that crippling, cold hold that the absence had on his heart, as all of the Lonely ilk tended to leave the impression of, but in his experience, it made it worse. It emphasized the space where only one soul, and one soul alone, lingered. Elias Knew it all too well.

A smile fluttered to his face as he strolled to his bedroom.

Elias  _ truly _ was Forsaken.

**Author's Note:**

> This took me way too long, considering it started out as a silly prompt and it spiraled from there.
> 
> I don't know what I'm doing, but take my offerings.


End file.
